You don’t bring me flowers anymore,

I miss the innocence of childhood. My best friend would bring me a yellow rose on Valentines Day, there were no drugs, and bad company. I could use a paintbrush and laugh at the consequences. I could play cricket with the boys, and swing high into a summer sky.  Until life taught me, the swing can lash back at you, and bloody your nose.

It seems everybody at the bar has a sad story. Everybody has a marriage with a cheating partner, or an unwilling partner, or a runaway partner. Everybody has a  story of child abuse, or rape accuse, or loss of love. Every time I try to wallow in the sadness in my life, I remind myself of all these little stories I hear at the bar, over Email, and at a house party.

There is so much wrong in this world. And, yet we mock every chance at happiness, yet we linger too long over the good things (is this really right for me) and yet we let the good things go so easily over trivialities.

We are raised as skeptics, and self-preservers, and self involved gentlemen, and women. It is my biggest problem with this generation. We are to fickle to identify the things that are important to us, even more fickle to stand by the things we say. We thrive in a vicious cycle of wrongdoing, hurt and self-harm.

Why is it so difficult to hope, believe, repair, remedy and be happy?

I want to go to the bar and hear a happy story. And, I want a yellow flower.

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